A Fragment. Punch
His eye was stern and wild,—his cheek was pale and cold as clay; Upon his tightened lip a smile of fearful meaning lay; He mused awhile—but not in doubt—no trace of doubt was there; It was the steady solemn pause of resolute despair.
Once more he look’d upon the scroll—once more its words he read—
Then calmly, with unflinching hand, its folds before him spread.
I saw him bare his throat, and seize the blue cold-gleaming steel, And grimly try the tempered edge he was so soon to feel!
A sickness crept upon my heart, and dizzy swam my head,—
I could not stir—I could not cry—I felt benumb’d and dead; Black icy horrors struck me dumb, and froze my senses o’er; I closed my eyes in utter fear, and strove to think no more.
Again I looked,—a fearful change across his face had pass’d—
He seem’d to rave,—on cheek and lip a flaky foam was cast; He raised on high the glittering blade—then first I found a tongue—
“Hold, madman! stay thy frantic deed!” I cried, and forth I sprung; He heard me, but he heeded not; one glance around he gave; And ere I could arrest his hand, he had begun to SHAVE!